


In Which The Bunker Doesn't Like Goodbyes

by Dragonwithatale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eldritch Creature Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Gen, i had feels about them tearing down the set, s15 coda, writing this in advance of the s15 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonwithatale/pseuds/Dragonwithatale
Summary: A small vignette from the Bunker's pov about goodbyes and endings
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21
Collections: Eldritch Bunker





	In Which The Bunker Doesn't Like Goodbyes

They turned the lights out the last day, and that was meant to be the end. It took time for the Bunker to understand - they'd said goodbye so many times, in brief ways and in longsuffering silences, in nights full of pacing and in heartstopping suddenness.

It never seemed to stay at "goodbye" is all. For all their talk of dying, for all the dying they _did_ , they came back so the Bunker could settle its wards around them and hold them safe for a little while. Dean would trudge down the stairs and head to the fridge to grab beer, Sam would sit wearily at the table with Cas, and they would be home again.

So it took time, hour passing after hour as the Bunker became concerned, its pipes ticking and rooms shuffling like flickers of thought, until it understood that this had been a goodbye. They didn't mean to come back.

The dishes were all cleaned and packed away, the fridge was empty (though it always was, Dean forgot to do the shopping during hunts, maybe the Bunker should start a greenhouse...), the doors were shut, and the lights were dark. But it wasn't that. It was the way Dean had sat on his bed the night before, back leaning against the wall, humming softly as he flipped through pictures and pages of journals. It was the letter Sam wrote out, pen scratching at 3 am when he should have been asleep. It was Castiel and Jack, sitting together in the library talking quietly of Heaven and God.

It was all of them at some point in the last week standing by the table and brushing their fingers over letters carved deep in memory.

It was the way Dean rested his hand on the door after he locked it. The Bunker had no heart to break. It could not cry, or call after them to stay where it was safe. A lifetime as concrete and stone and it was alone again, empty hallways and cooling lights and the memory of love and life fading with each hour, each creeping day.

All it could do was wait. And hope.

The world these hunters walked in was so wide and wild, and the Bunker did not understand it all - gods and demons, heaven and hell, grocery stores (how did those buildings get away with just _making_ food like that, surely someone must get suspicious). And for all that they seemed to forget, _constantly_ , they had friends. People who would help, who would stand shoulder to shoulder with them against it all. They would come back. A little hurt, a little older, probably no wiser, but alive.

Time is a funny thing. It speeds and it slows and an instant can be forever, and it's worse when you're waiting and worrying. So the Bunker had no idea how long it had been anymore when the world ended for a brief flash. Things just... _stopped_. And then they were fine again.

It felt suspiciously like reality had the hiccups. (The Bunker had had those once, it really didn't like it. Having to hide all the new broom closets had been very hard.) So the Bunker set to work, uncoiling hallway after endless hallway, building more that went up and down and _in_. This patch of reality was going to be solid, thank you very much.

Really it should have been less surprising when the Bunker found places, as it built out, that were perfect for doors. And it should have been even less surprising when those doors were opened, when keys turned in locks and things like "Uh... Donna, why is the Bunker in your closet?" were heard.

The hunters turned on the lights, one room after the other, and the Bunker still waited. And hoped. Even as the new inhabitants moved in and life moved on, the Bunker spiraled a web of doorways out and out.

And then one day it hears a familiar rumble driving up to the front door. And familiar footsteps, and the comfortable slide of keys in locks, and "home sweet home" as Dean walks down the stairs again.

They came home.


End file.
